Against his instincts, Arin agreed to leave Eldersglade. He said his goodbyes in the early hours of the morning, knowing he might never return. His father, stoic as always, placed a hand on his shoulder and simply said, "Be brave, son." Arin wanted to stay longer, but Eryndor insisted they move quickly. There was no telling when the Nightborn would return.
They traveled westward, away from the safety of the village and into the wilds. The journey was grueling—days of walking through dense forests and across jagged hills. Eryndor kept a relentless pace, but at night, he sat Arin down and began to teach him about magic. "Magic is not something you wield like a weapon," Eryndor explained as they sat by the campfire one evening. "It is a force that flows through you, ancient and alive. You must learn to let it guide you, or it will destroy you."
Arin listened, though doubt still clouded his thoughts. What if he couldn't control it? What if the magic was more dangerous than helpful? But each time he closed his eyes, he saw the Nightborn, and he knew he couldn't afford to be weak.